


Ballad of the Blinded

by GenZVee



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: (not anyone canon dw), Automail, Cancer, Gen, Minor Character Death, Parental Roy Mustang, Surgery, pretty oc centric (always is with me lets be real)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-13 21:15:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28784802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GenZVee/pseuds/GenZVee
Summary: The town of Alenthaal.Mustang knows it well— he owes his life to the family of doctors that protect it, after all. Unlike any team he'd ever known, the people of Alenthaal have an unshakable unity, enough to drive out the military from its borders completely. The only "military" that exists there is one of the people, made up by the people, answering only to the people. Even the Fuhrer is aware of its incredibly independent nature, he's sure of it.It is truly the only place of peace in Amestris, even with the sin its protectors have stained themselves with. A sin he's seen before, the sin that would result in the creation of the Fullmetal Alchemist, Hero of the People.Alenthaal has always hated the military. As have many other towns bound to East Amestris.More importantly, though, is that the Corviln Family has always hated the military.What happens when the only living Corviln left grows dissatisfied with her research? What happens when she begins to get involved in the larger curse plaguing the country her home is linked to?Perhaps only God knows, now.(debut fic for the fandom! any feedback is appreciated!!)
Relationships: Roy Mustang & Original Character(s), more to be added as it continues - Relationship
Kudos: 3





	1. The shadow of incurability.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How?
> 
> How could this have happened?
> 
> And why could he not prevent it a second time?

**It started out with harmless intentions.**

It _always_ does, it seems. Roy wonders if he's cursed with some kind of malicious luck, to constantly be encountering things like this. To witness the ever-increasing number of horrors this cursed, vile country births.

He'd just wanted to visit Alenthaal. Even though he is a man of the normal military, everyone knows he would never dare disturb their peace. Tetha and Lyran knew he was different. Ever since they saved him in the bloodied desert of Ishval, they knew. 

War changed people. But for the State Alchemists ordered to _exterminate—_ god, he hated that word, and so many would agree— things were different. It didn't change them. It broke them. It broke Armstrong, broke Hawkeye, broke him. He thought he was purely and properly desensitized to it all; to death, decay, and ash. The panic attacks disagreed.

Oh, god, did they disagree.

It was near the end that he'd managed to go and get mortally wounded. A part of him still feels like he deserved it, for what he'd done. He'd never admit it, not to anyone, but Hawkeye knew. Hughes knew, Armstrong knew, Havoc knew, they all knew— especially Tetha and Lyran, the two who operated on him to save his stupid life. The two who gave him a chance to really see the horrors of what he'd— and so many others— had done, and forced him to _live with it._

The guilt on his conscience will never die. But just the same, his renewed strength to _become the damn Fuhrer already and make things better for the Ishvalans again_ pounded within him, powering every step he took. He has them to thank, and only them. He owes them his life, in more ways than one.

Tetha and Lyran Corviln had long since passed away.

He's known since only a day after they passed.

He was present at their funeral. Present with the three children they'd left behind, the next to carry on their family name. Two seventeen-year olds, a daughter and son, as well as their one and only twelve-year old daughter. 

Fortunately for him, it actually rained that day.

But somehow, those kids were the only ones who didn't need rain.

In that grave, they live on, two of the small group of people who could understand him. He visited once afterward on the anniversary. 

Lucaun and Lauriam welcomed him warmly. It was like nothing had changed. The two of them still argued like twins always did, with that sense of warmth and love and unwavering trust. 

And of course, there was the now-thirteen Luitumi, who practically tackled him to the ground when she saw him. "Mr. Mustang!" he'd remember. Her voice was so full of life, then— all of them were— and she had just as much energy to back it up. She was beginning to turn out incredibly bright, just like her parents, just like her siblings. She'd snuck him a glance of their "super secret curriculum" that he knows Tetha and Lyran made for them far ahead of time, and they were well beyond what he ever could've learned at their age.

Of course, their daughter would be just as smart as the two of them were. Of course she would.

"You don't look too good, Mustang."

Lucaun was perceptive. He always was. And still, so young. 

"Anything said in Alenthaal stays in Alenthaal. Vent anything you want, sir. I'm here to listen."

He's too mature for his age. But he knows that he's telling the truth. Lucaun's always been a good kid, ever since he first met him. Kind, but not to a fault. He knew what he was doing, pulling out one of Alenthaal's key principles. 

But he couldn't. He couldn't bring himself to talk, not even if it killed him.

It wasn't just the death of those two. It was the fact that literal weeks before, he'd encountered those boys. The Elric brothers.

The ones who attempted human transmutation and the tender age of eleven and nine, respectively. The ones who didn't know the true dangers of what they'd attempted before it was too late. 

He acted tough. He had to. It was the only way to make sure those boys would be safe, after what they'd done. To relight that fire within Edward, to get him to try and get their bodies back— it was more than a matter of pity. 

But to talk of their sin would be too cruel. They both knew the weight of what they did, he wouldn't make that weight worse by speaking of it to someone they didn't know. Not even to someone like Lucaun, who, without a shadow of a doubt, could be trusted. All the Corvilns could. Everyone in Alenthaal could. 

But he just _couldn't,_ no matter how much that transmutation circle lingered in his brain.

"It's okay if you can't. Maybe next year, huh? I look forward to your next visit."

That's right. Leaving. That was what he was doing when Lucaun asked him. Next year.

And next year came. It was completely of his own accord. He'd just wanted to see them again. Something to stabilize him. Ed had gotten his certification, but that instilled a new wave of fear in his gut, twisting his insides beyond repair. Hawkeye made sure he could come out here, undetected by the larger military. He didn't want to put any of them in danger, after all.

But he'd come to realize soon that putting them in danger was the least of his worries.

"M-Mr. Mustang? I-Is- Oh my god, you're actually here-"

He'd just stopped to eat for a moment before moving onto the Corviln household. He didn't even get a foot in the tavern before the chill, tense aura of the entire town finally enroached upon his senses, practically assaulting him with nausea. 

"Carson...?"

It was all he could manage to get out for that moment. The boy was no older than Lucaun. He'd met him, once, during one of his visits here before the funeral. He'd grown quite a bit, but.. that face is undeniable. Those red eyes and that black-to-white hair spoke volumes to anyone in Alenthaal. 

He let himself sit down before anything else was said. His chest ached. 

Something was wrong here. Something very, very wrong.

"S-sir... O-Oh god, sir, I'm so sorry."

"Sorry about what, Carson?"

"I'm sorry... I should've stopped her, I-I'm sorry, I'm sorry-"

"Carson. Calm down. What... What are you sorry for? Who are you talking about?"

His breath catches in his throat as he speaks. Sorry... for someone's actions. A her. He was close to the Corvilns, practically a brother to them.

_No. They can't..._

"H-Hospital. R-room Thirteen. I-I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, sir..."

He can't remember walking to the hospital.

Everything is a blur as he remembers the smell of blood, the look on Edwards face, and the fear that's ever-present deep within his soul.

_Please don't tell me they did it, too._

It's a plea for only God to hear. 

Unfortunately, God answers back, with harsh truth as its weapon. Before him lies a sick— no, _dying_ is more appropriate— Lucaun, looking less and less like an eighteen-year old boy and more like a _corpse_ the longer he stares. He'd only been gone a year.

A year is all it took to kill this boy.

"M-Mmuh... Mustang. H-Hey. T-Took you-" Lucaun cannot finish. Roy assumes that what he spits up into a handkerchief is blood, for now. It doesn't calm him. "L-Lon... Long enough. W-Welcome ba-ack..."

The only thing he manages to do before he would collapse to his knees is sit down next to the dying boy. His breath can't leave his throat. Not yet.

"H-Hey, Musta-ang... W-Wanna know s-somethin' funny...?"

He can't answer back. He can't even look up at him.

"A-All o-our y-years... I-I've b-been he-helping w-with... C-cancer research. A-And then... Ha-hhah... I g-go an' g-get it m-myself... F-funny h-how life w-works."

How life works. 

_How life works._

Life is cruel. To give a boy who's devoted all of his short life to trying to find a way to treat and cure the very thing that will steal his life is cruel. He's always known the harsh truth that _life doesn't play fair,_ but it somehow hurts worse, this time.

Maybe he'd grown too attached to these children. To the Corvilns. 

It's not like he can change that, not anymore.

"H-How long?" he finally managed to choke out, forcing himself to speak. Being composed isn't always necessary, but it would've been unfair to not talk to him. Not when he was using what little of the strength he had left to speak. "How long have... have you had this? How long do you have _left?"_

He sounded desperate. He was.

"A-A week. M-Maybe... less. H-Had- f'year. M-Maybe more."

"And you just _ignored_ it?"

"H-Had... to s-save Laur. I-I... I-I made th-the wrong ch-choice. C-couldn't... k-keep Laur from dyin'..."

Lauriam. Oh god, Lauriam.

She'd died. The oldest of the three of them— _if even by minutes—_ was gone. Something had killed Lauriam, and he hadn't even been here for a funeral.

"H-How long? How long has she been gone?"

"T-Three months. B-Been th-this bad... s-since a week after. Laur... S-She got Mom n' Dad's.... th-their sickness. C-couldn't... l-let it happen again... Not 'nother epidemic..."

_He ran himself ragged trying to make sure Lauriam couldn't spread it to anyone._

Of all the reckless, idiotic... Of course. It made sense. They were selfless to a fault, all of the damn Corvilns were.

"B-Buh... Lumi. O-Oh god, Lumi..."

Luitumi. Where was she? If Lauriam was dead, then Carson... He had to have been talking about her, he knew.

"What... What did she do, Lucaun?"

_Please don't say what I think you're going to say._

"Sh-She... She tried t' b-bring Laur back. T' save me. Didn't... Didn't work. S-She... She screamed when they b-brought her here, I h-heard..."

He felt his insides practically crumble. Another one. She was only fourteen by now, and she'd performed human transmutation, just like the Elric brothers. 

He should've warned them when he had the chance, last year. He should've done it. _And he didn't._

"S-She.... She l-looks bad, Mustang. B-But... She's alive. I'm sorry, I sh-should've taught her better..."

_None of this is your fault._

No matter how hard he tried, those words simply wouldn't leave his mouth. His body was frozen as he tried to keep the shaking internal, eyes unfocused and glassy. 

"Sh-She's the room over. Please... S-See her for me. I-I don't have long left. I h-have to say goodbye s-soon, Colonel... N'sh-she deserves t' kn-know you're still h-here."

This wasn't a suggestion. It was a request. A dying boy's request, how could he possibly have refused that in a place like this?

With a heavy heart and quaking bones, he left to the room over. Not even God prepare him for this sight, nothing could've.

With the Elric brothers, Alphonse lost his entire body, and Edward lost his leg, and then his arm to bring back Alphonse's soul. Limbs. Limbs couldn't be regrown, but they could be replaced with automail. He'd made the unfair assumption that human transmutation took basic pieces of a person.

Clearly, that was not the case. Not when a small, frail, fourteen-year old _child_ is shivering in her bed, with pieces of her body _completely altered._

"Luitumi...?"

"Colonel Mustang... please, let me tell you about her current condition."

It was her nurse. He'd recognized her— Athena Mills, if he'd remembered right. She... She also assisted in Ishval, alongside the Corvilns. 

"Mills... What...?"

"...Human transmutation took away her major senses, Colonel. She can't hear, can't see, can't taste, can't touch, can't smell. E-Everywhere that those senses centralize, they've been... been replaced with some kind of glass and gel, we're not sure what. It's acting as fake skin, but she can't... feel anything where they are. Her nose doesn't have smell receptors anymore, the nerves in her hands and feet have become completely unfeeling, but still functional... She can't hear anything unless it's extremely loud now, and she can't see. Her eyes have been completely replaced. So has her tongue and all the tastebuds that run down her throat..."

With each word, somehow, his heart sank lower. _This_ is what human transmutation could steal? This is what the "truth" that Edward mentioned could've cost?

The horrors of Alchemy never cease.

"We've been able to talk to her... but only by finger-writing letters onto her arm. We're looking into getting some amplified hearing aids, if possible, but it's proven to be a struggle so far. Her ears... We can't just use normal hearing aids, they just don't work correctly."

"I-I... I see. Thank you."

"Should I let her know you're here?"

"Yes. Thank you, Mills."

Only a nod was given in response before Mills returned to the side of her patient— that word hurts him to even think— and gently grasped her hand. Probably for the pressure, he'd guess. Something to let her know that she was going to need to focus on the sensations available to her.

**M-U-S-T-A-N-G I-S H-E-R-E**

Luitumi stirred a little, shifting herself to sit up a little bit more. Her attention was at him, yes, but... beyond him. She couldn't truly "focus" on anyone anymore, not with her senses robbed from her.

"M-Mr. Mustang... Y-You're here?"

Her voice... that's what broke him even further.

It sounded so small. No sense of volume control whatsoever. Her voice kept cracking, too. Unlike Edward, there's no flame to be found. 

She's scared.

Mills grabs his arm and pulls him to her place, placing one of his fingers gently on her arm. He lets her do it. The writing comes naturally to him.

**I A-M H-E-R-E**

The response immediately brings her to tears. He recoils slightly, but then she uses her other hand to grab his arm, to keep him there. 

"D-Don'... Don't go. Pl-please, Mr. Mustang, I'm sorry, I j-just wanted to h-help him, I promise-"

_She thinks I'm looking down on her for performing the taboo._

**W-O-N-T L-E-A-V-E**

**S-O-R-R-Y**

Her breathing is erratic, but it at least calmed her a little. Her grip on him wasn't as forceful anymore.

"I h-hate this, Mr. M-Mustang... I-it's so dark. I c-can't- I can't hear anyone. I h-hate this. I'm sorry."

"I wish I could've gone back, to before all this." It is unspoken, but clear as day. He could see it in Edward's eyes before he renewed that flame, and now he can hear it in her voice, too. Edward had only lost an arm and a leg, though.

She... She's in no position to go on a journey to get her pieces back. Nor will he allow her to do so, not with the military's help. She's safer here in Alenthaal, where the people can protect her, and where she can continue to protect the people. 

He can't, in good conscience, make her one of the military's dogs. Especially when the Corvilns are known for hating the military.

When he leaves Alenthaal that day, cursed knowledge in the palm of his hands, he makes a vow. Not to God, not to Earth, but to himself.

He'll never tell **anyone** of what he discovered in this sacred town. Unlike Edward, Luitumi is better off staying put. She has people to look over her, people to fight for her— something Edward didn't have in greater numbers until he came into the picture.

If the burden of truth must be on his shoulders to protect them both, then so be it. He'll shoulder it will all the strength he can manage.

He has a job to get back to, after all.


	2. The regrets of impulsive decisions.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ed is pissed.

**Two weeks.**

That's all it took.

"Colonel? There's someone waiting for you on the phone. A Carson Moore."

"Oh, yes. Thank you, Lieutenant."

He is certain she noticed the way his face dropped upon hearing the name. He'd been dreading to hear this call, clinging onto some sick hope that maybe, just maybe, Lucaun would live longer. He knew that his death was inevitable, and even still... he tried to hope he had a little more time. 

"Hello, Carson. Still remembered my personal code, huh?"

_"Pff, of course. Don't think I'll ever forget it. You told it to me that day you got stupid drunk, remember?"_

"Agh... Let's not talk about that."

_"Aww, but I love talking about it! Aw snap snap, spark spark-"_

**"Carson."**

_"Hahah, yeah, fine. I'll... get to the point. Um... Lucaun passed away last night. Um... his lung cancer didn't kill him, but... the brain cancer definitely did."_

"Wait- what? He-"

_"Yeah. He... his lung cancer spread through the bloodstream. He had a tumor up in his head, and... It started bleeding. He was just laying like normal in bed yesterday, he seemed to be doing a little better because he wasn't having any seizures this week, and then he just— oh, god..."_

"Carson, easy... Take a deep breath." Not like he's doing any better, though. Even though he's trying to keep his composure, his insides are twisting again. "Do it word by word, if you need to."

_"H-He... had a stroke, Colonel. I-It... It killed him. Instantly. His body couldn't take the stress of it and he just... he died, right there, before anyone could help him..."_

Deep breath. _Take your own damn advice, Roy._ In, and out.

"When's the funeral, Carson?"

_"Two days from now. Th-they're burning his body, on the lake. General Lazarus practically demanded he get the warflame since he was our Lieutenant Colonel... Or, wait, no, just Colonel now, that's right..."_

"...I'll be there. Does she know?"

_"Lumi...? Yeah... She was the first one told. I finally managed to make a working set of hearing aids for her with some help from one of the researchers, s-so she's going to be there. H-Her burns have completely healed, b-but she hasn't walked for a while, so she's going to be in a wheelchair just in case..."_

"...I see. Carson, can you tell her something for me?"

_"H-Huh? Oh, yeah, sure."_

"Tell her I'll be there, and that I want to talk to her properly, once it's done. Just the two of us."

_"Y-Yes, sir. Um... There's another thing, too."_

"Oh?"

_"General Lazarus wanted me to ask... if you wanted to be the one to set the flame. I-In the event I got you to come, anyway. H-He thinks it would be only right, b-but again, that's only if you wanted to-!"_

Fucking Lazarus. Of course that damned fool would know how to pull at his heart. Alenthaal's Militia practically has him wound around their fingers.

"...I will. Let your General know that for me, will you?"

_"Y-Yes, sir. I-I'll see you then, sir."_

"Yes... I'll see you then."

Just like that, the fated call ends. He puts down the receiver and slumps back in his chair, breathing. Lucaun is gone. The only one remaining from the once-proud Corviln family is a fourteen-year old girl that suddenly lost both of her siblings within months. It... it was so _fast._

"...Are you alright, Colonel?"

In, and out.

"I will be."

"This funeral... When is it?"

"Two days from now. I'll be headed to Alenthaal again. Can you-"

"I'll handle it, sir. Just get back in a timely manner. The Elrics will probably be back then, though..."

"Tell them to save their report for when I get back. Make sure Ed actually does it, too. I don't need slackers."

"Understood, sir. I take it you'll be leaving tomorrow morning?"

"Yes, I will. Make sure things don't fall apart, Hawkeye."

"They likely won't with you gone, sir."

Ouch. Joking at his expense to ease the tension. At least it works, somewhat.

And just like that, he goes back to the monotonous task of doing his job, barely even focusing on any of his work. He can only think of that train ride for tomorrow morning. 

What a strange thing, to be a friend of Alenthaal.

* * *

He hated the train ride.

It's already bad enough that it basically takes an entire day to get to this damn town, it's even worse that they have to keep twisting and turning to avoid entire mountains in the middle of what Ed would call "butt-ass nowhere." He's not one to get any sort of motion sickness, but if anything could do it, it would be a train ride to Alenthaal. 

He needs to get Hawkeye to remind him to order a new road to be built when he becomes Fuhrer. 

Maybe he'll just walk across the sand to get to Youswell for a train back... No, they'd hate him, actually. He'll just suck this up for right now.

 _Deal with the loopy path, Roy, you have a funeral to go to._

And he does. It's late and chilly by the time he arrives, so he wastes no time in heading for the Inn.

"Ah, Colonel Mustang, welcome. Staying for the night before the funeral?"

"Yes... Train gave me a god-awful neck cramp. I'll sleep it off before I go and see Lazarus."

"Ah, yeah, I know the feeling. Can I get you some hot tea to help loosen you up before you sleep? Tends to help Xiulan when he goes out to East City."

"That'd be great, thanks."

The tea is a little strong, but he drinks it all anyway. He forces himself to sleep, no matter how much his mind yells at him. He's going to need his rest to deal with Lazarus before prepping the raft for the funeral. Bastard always gives him a hard time, no matter what he does.

He wakes up, the next day, neck still strained. It's fairly minor pain now, but it still pinches at his nerves in a way that he hates. 

_You're lucky you still have your nerves to begin with._

Ah. And the warzone thoughts have returned, wonderful. Just what he needs on the day of a literal funeral.

"Mornin', Colonel. Heading to the lake after you wake up?"

As expected, Nuan's already prepping some coffee. Thank god. He needs it.

"Yeah. Lazarus didn't show up during the night, did he?"

"Nope. Don't worry, if he wanted to bother you with some nonsense, he'd wait until morning."

"Great..."

Without a moment to spare before he crashes there and then, Nuan hands him the cup. Oh sweet, blissful bean juice. He can practically feel the mental crud from the train washing away. Now just for him to enjoy it before this terrible day starts-

" **MUSTAAAAAAAAAAANG!"**

_Are you fucking kidding me._

"Sorry, Colonel. Looks like I jinxed it. And you, **_General,_** how many times do I have to tell you, _stop kicking the **damn** door open!_ If you break it again I'm billing _**YOU**_ for repairs!"

"Yeah, yeah, sorry, Private! Just couldn't help myself!"

"I'm _serious_ , General! I _will_ bill you! And I'll make you pay off your tab, too!"

"Yeah, yeah..."

He can't enjoy his bean juice anymore. He still drinks it, though. Just... angrily. At least Nuan is chewing out Lazarus for the disturbance so he doesn't have to...

The General seats himself down at the bar right next to him, all too casual in that proud red Alenthaalian uniform. Seeing it has always made him sick, somewhat. The idea of this proud little town still needing a Militia in case of emergencies because they're on the very border of Amestris... He doesn't like it. Sure, they may have some of the most talented alchemists in the East— bar Eastern Command, of course— but... being prepared for something like _war_ seems wrong for a place so peaceful.

Sometimes he even forgets that Lucaun was a part of it. 

"So, Mustang. Major Moore told me you're good to set the flame. It's funny, I didn't think you had the guts."

"And what's that supposed to mean, Lazarus?"

"You're soft, Colonel. For the Corviln kids, that is. You could've just written, but you came to visit whenever you felt like you had free time. You and Lucaun... You acted like a mentor, but to him? You were family. You always have been for them, and you know it."

"...It's only right to help him set off, Lazarus. He was a proud alchemist. He did more good for this country than I ever have, with his breakthroughs... He deserves this funeral."

"Hah! You got that right. Those kids are better than anyone in the damn military, that's for sure. Even still... I know you, Mustang. This is your way of saying goodbye, isn't it?"

_You can never hide anything, can you?_

"..."

He's suddenly aware of the fact he's almost done with his cup of coffee, but doesn't feel any more awake. In fact, he's more sluggish than anything.

"Everyone is mourning right now, Roy. I want to thank you for taking the initiative. I would've done it myself if you hadn't agreed, but even then... it would probably hurt me a lot more than it hurts you. I'm not ready to say goodbye, not so soon."

"...Everyone's going to be there, right?"

"Yeah. Everyone from town. Some people are getting to the Urbukya station to travel here before it starts."

Just like that, his coffee is done. It feels like it was gone far too quickly. 

_That feeling is all too familiar._

"C'mon, Colonel. We should get going. Time to get everything set up."

"...Yeah."

Nuan takes his empty cup for him, saluting as they depart. The fist over the heart, a symbol of Alenthaalian pride. He returns it before he's out of view.

Time to prepare.

* * *

"What the hell do you _mean_ the Colonel's out of town?! Bastard gets on my nerves about my damn reports and then he's not even here to _receive_ them?!"

"It means that _he's out of town,_ Edward. He got a call for something urgent and left this morning. You'll just have to wait to give it to him."

"Auuuuuuraagah! Where the hell did he even go?"

"Brother, we should just wait..."

"No, I'm not waiting! He pisses me off! What makes him think he can just up and leave like that?!"

**"Edward."**

He freezes in place. Hawkeye's never spoken to him that sternly before, even just in calling out his name. 

"If you _must_ know, he's in Alenthaal. Now be patient, he should be back in around a day."

"Y-yes, ma'am... No, wait a second, why the hell is he in Alenthaal? Isn't that the town right on the eastern border below Youswell? I thought they had their own Militia..."

"The Colonel would prefer I don't tell you. Just go take some time for yourselves, boys. You'll have another assignment soon enough."

"...Fine. C'mon, Al."

"H-Huh? Oh, right, wait for me-!"

He's pissed. Of course Colonel Bastard can just up and go wherever he wants, but why did it have to be in Alenthaal? It takes forever to get there and now he's going to be even more frustrated waiting _forever_ for him to get back just so he can rub this stupid report in his stupid face. 

"What should we do now, Brother?"

"Hmm..."

Colonel Bastard's out in Alenthaal. From what he's seen on the maps, the only way to get there is through the Urbukya station to Guribaz, and from there, taking that long ass train route to Alenthaal itself. 

Meaning, there's only one way back from there. That's the train to Guribaz. Meaning... oh, yeah. This is gonna be good. He can rub his report all in Colonel Bastard's face and get a chance to go to a place he hasn't been to yet. Maybe even get a hint for their Philosopher's Stone research with how Mustang seems to have hid it up until now...

"Brother?"

"Gotta hurry, Al. We've got a train to catch!"

"A train?"

He cannot contain his smile any longer. Oh, it's gonna be so fun to rub this in his face. 

"We're heading to Alenthaal!"

* * *

"Honestly, you two, what is wrong with you?"

"We're sorry, geez..."

"You couldn't have just waited?"

"Hey, you didn't have to join us, you know!"

"I _joined_ you because of the fact that the Colonel isn't there to play _games_ , Edward. What he was called for is... complicated. I need to make sure you don't mess up the delicate balance that Alenthaal has."

"...We're not that messy..."

"We kind of are, Brother."

"Al-!"

"What? It's true!"

"Y-Yeah, well... you didn't have to _say_ it-!"

Aaand he slumps down in his seat, an exaggerated frown planted on his face. Next to him, Riza only sighs. 

She saw this coming from a mile away the moment she mentioned the town, honestly. And of course, with the usual dumb luck the brothers had, they'd get to the main train on time that _every_ returning Alenthaalian is on. Fortunately for the three of them, none of them look like military officials whatsoever, between Al just wearing armor, Ed looking too much like a child to be a State Alchemist, and herself in her _normal_ clothes. 

It minimizes any chances of getting stared at to practically zero.

"So... what's this complicated thing, Lieutenant?"

"You'll know when you get there. Get some rest in the meantime, it's better if you're asleep when we get to the twists and turns..."

"Mmh."

Just slightly, he leans against Al. The armor isn't very comfortable, but it'll be better than laying against the window. Less bumpy that way.

Within around an hour, he's already deep within another one of his naps, blessedly absent of the usual nightmarish imagery.

* * *

"Colonel Mustang?"

He couldn't tell how long he's been staring out into the distance while waiting for everyone to gather up. The train from Guribaz has arrived, so all of those native to Alenthaal are present at the lakefront now. 

It got dark. So quickly, too. The stars provide little illumination, but they're nice to gaze at for a distraction, regardless. All good things must come to an end, however.

"Yes, Carson?"

"General Lazarus is ready. He's going to wheel Lumi to the front with him... You can set the flame any time, and they'll begin."

"Thank you, Carson."

He tilts the cap on his head ever so slightly as he steps forward, right behind the rocks that outline the lakefront. The raft with Lucaun's body has already floated off towards the center since being placed, and he's thankful for it. He won't have to see the corpse burning up close. 

He waits for Luitumi to be brought up to the front with the rest of the Militia before finally snapping his fingers, setting the floating casket ablaze. Illuminated by the fire, he steps back, and salutes.

Fist over the heart, just as he always used. The world has lost a valiant alchemist.

The warmth of the flame does not reach him from this distance, and yet his body feels like it's burning.

It's not raining, not today. But part of him wishes it were.

From beside him, Lazarus steps up, saluting before turning to the rest of the people of Alenthaal. He glances, if ever so slightly, to make sure Luitumi is fine.

Her gaze feels so hopeless.

"Eighteen years Alenthaal has been blessed with the life of Lucaun Corviln. Today we stand, united, to mourn his final day in our land. Today we stand, united, to celebrate all he has done for our people, and for Amestris! Today we stand, _united,_ to thank him for his years of service to our home, saving countless lives as **our one and only Colonel Corviln!"**

This time, it's not just the Militia saluting. He can hear the echoed thuds of _everyone's_ fists against their chests, and the subsequent shuffling of them kneeling to pay their respects.

He follows suit, his palms aching from how tight his grip is.

"We salute, in honor of you, brave soldier. May you rest in peace, with the rest of your Alenthaalian brothers and sisters."

It's quiet, but everyone can hear it. The only noise that reaches any of their ears afterwards is the shuffling of clothes and the crackling of distant flames. They do not weep— Lucaun would not have wanted it.

One by one, the people scatter, returning to their homes and businesses. The Militia are the only ones remaining by the time the flame has gotten considerably distant from the center of the lake.

"We'll be returning to the base for now, Mustang. I take it you'll stay a little while longer?"

"...Yes, Lazarus."

"Alright. I'll leave you with her, then. She's insistent on staying."

"Thank you, General."

A hand is placed on his shoulder. It does nothing to ground him as Lazarus leads the march back to the base, with certain people like Private Nuan returning to their workplaces instead. He'll be needing to return to that Inn later, after all. Everyone's going to need a drink or something after this, too...

Taking his cap off, he joins Luitumi, placing a hand on the top of her head. Her hair is still as messy as ever.

"Hey, Mr. Mustang?"

"...Yes?"

"...Is this what grief is supposed to feel like?"

His attention falls on her face. He was wrong— it _is_ raining today. Just... not for him.

"...Yes, it is."

"I don't like it."

"Not many people do."

There's a pause. He can hear her sucking in a breath, as she messes with the glass of her palms, trying to keep herself from bursting into tears.

"I-I hate it. W-When Mom and Dad and Laur died, I-I thought- I thought I was used to it. I-I still had Lucaun. H-He could always be there, we'd always be there for eachother..."

His hand begins moving subconsciously, softly petting her head. He really is soft for these kids, huh?

"A-And then... H-He just collapsed. S-started coughing up so much blood a-and he only had so long t-to live, a-and... I just..."

"It's okay, Luitumi. Let it out."

She's trembling in her wheelchair, doing her best to control her own breathing. He continues to provide some sense of connection for her, anything to help her get this off her chest. He knows better than anyone that keeping grief like this in doesn't do anything good.

"I-I was so _desperate,_ Mr. M-Mustang... I-I thought th-that if I brought Laur b-back, w-we could f-find a way t-to help him. T-To give him more time so w-we could find a cure. I d-didn't even m- _make_ her, d-do you know that? Th-The damn thing I b-brought back- it was _blonde!_ L-Laur had b-beautiful chocolate c-colored hair, n-not- not our _blonde...!_ "

He breathes.

Does that mean Fullmetal wasn't even able to bring his mother back, too?

He elects to purge this information from his memory later. That's... that's too painful.

"I-I couldn't e-even b-bring her back, a-and now... N-now I-I paid the stupid price for my s-stupid decision! I-I...!"

All of a sudden, she just... stops. Stops shaking, stops talking, stops breathing, if even just for a moment.

Now all-too lucid, she slumps back in the chair, holding out her hands in front of her.

"Th-the price... I paid..."

"Luitumi...?"

"...O-Oh my god. Oh my god..."

"What's wrong-? Does something hurt?"

"I-I... Mr. Mustang, I c-can't remember... g-giving the Truth my ears. Or m-my touch sensitive spots, or my tongue, o-or my nose-"

"Hey, hey, easy, Luitumi... What you went through was traumatic. It's understandable you don't remember-"

"N-No, Mr. Mustang, y-you don't.... You don't get it, do you? I-I paid- I paid the **price.** _My eyes._ T-To do this," she claps her hands together. He sucks in a breath, watching as she transmutes a small sculpture from the dirt beneath her. "I-I paid the truth w-with my sight. B-But... Th-that was it. I-I should've... I should've only l-lost my sight. S-so... What..."

She looks down where she feels her hands are, and stares, trying to remember.

"W-What... wh-what else d-did I pay to see...?"

_Ed saw the way to transmute without a circle. If she can do that, then... what else did human transmutation grant?_

He'd rather not find out. 

* * *

"H-Hey, Lieutenant..."

"Yes, Ed?"

"...Why didn't you tell me he was going to a funeral?"

"Because it wasn't something for me to tell."

"I-I know, but... Damn it, I wouldn't have dragged us here if I knew that _that's_ what he was doing here-!"

"Well, you can't change that now, can you? Let it be a lesson to not stick your nose into the Colonel's business, then."

He huffs. By the time he heard their General start talking, he knew. They'd been sitting off in the distance, out of respect. 

"Lieutenant Hawkeye...?"

Al's voice is quiet. 

The flames keep reminding the two of them, no matter how many times they see it.

They don't have a home like this to go back to, not anymore.

"Yes, Al?"

"Is... Is Alenthaal special, for the Colonel? We were far away, but I could see he was doing their salute and everything... And that girl he's talking to, it looks like he knows her really well."

"...Again, that isn't something for me to tell. But... You should be able to ask him yourselves pretty soon. Look."

Roy's already begun walking towards them. At first, he almost looked a little sad. But... well, seeing Ed seemed to change that. By the time he's reached them, its clear he's using up all the strength he has to not pummel the twelve—almost thirteen—year old there and then.

" **What** are you doing here, Elric?! I believe Hawkeye told you to just stay in East City, did she not?"

"Y-Yeah, yeah... I just..."

"W-we swear, we didn't mean to walk in on this funeral! Honest! We're sorry, Colonel!"

He looks at Al. Then back at Ed. And back to Riza. 

"They mean it, Colonel. Trust me, I chewed them out on my own. They know that they messed up this time."

He breathes. In, and out. This is fine. They won't know about what happened to Luitumi so long as they don't interact with her. They won't be dragged into each other's messes. It's fine.

"Just... You two are idiots. Actually, no! Fullmetal, you're the idiot. Just listen to what the Lieutenant says next time, damnit. I'm too tired for this."

"Yeah, yeah..."

The tension is still thick, but at least it's not as intense as before. They're thankful for that.

"Just... Come on to the Inn with me. Nuan has rooms to spare for you, I'm sure of it. Most of the people who returned for the funeral already have homes here. We're leaving in the morning."

No room for debate. It seems any discussion about what they saw from where they were seated will have to wait until the train ride tomorrow.

Outside the door, Al stops.

"Hey, Al, what's up? We should be heading inside, it's late."

"I know, but... what about her?"

He pokes his head out from inside. Sure enough...

The girl that Mustang was talking to before is still there, watching the flame burn out. 

Riza taps on the two of their shoulders, shakes her head, and pulls them back inside.

She'll be fine.

**This isn't someone they need to meet- not yet.**


	3. To play with that which god has destroyed.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carson requires some assistance for a project, and Lazarus sees to it that Luitumi is kept safe.

"...Sergeant Fuery?"

"Huh-? What is it, sir?"

_"What is this?"_

It's the beginning of March.

It hasn't even been a _month_ since they brought in the stray that would become Black Hayate, and now there's _another_ animal inside the East Area Headquarters. A set of sharp, onyx eyes gaze at him from across the room, with the creature they belong to seated comfortably and _smugly_ on what would've been his desk.

The eye contact is kept for what feels like minutes before a **_meow_ **fills the silence, with the damn thing starting to clean its paw without a care in the world. Right on the paperwork he still needs to complete.

"...I'm pretty sure that would be a _cat,_ sir."

It's pretty clear that's not what he _meant,_ but he accepts the answer anyways.

"Why is there a cat in _here,_ Fuery?"

"H-Hey, this one wasn't me this time! It just kind of... wandered in, I guess? I didn't even notice it until just now."

He huffs. How the hell did it even get past the main doors? Where did it _come_ from?

Roy's never been too particularly fond of _felines,_ and yet, here he is, picking one up the exact same way he picked up Black Hayate, examining it with that critical eye. 

"Cat, huh..."

Wherever this cat is from, it is completely unbothered by human handling. If not domesticated, then it's certainly tamed; it's comfortable being around people to the point that it's yawning _as he's holding it,_ something that he knows is a sign of trust, thanks to his sisters. He also knows that cats tend to be more _crafty_ than dogs, especially ones that are used to being outdoors.

"...It probably belongs to someone on-base. It's too calm to be some kind of stray."

"What should we do with it, sir...?"

"Hm..."

He places the cat back down on his desk, this time _off_ his papers—which he still _very_ much needs to do— and sits down in his chair, locking eyes with it again.

"We'll just have to wait for its owner to come looking for it, then. As for you, cat," he points right at it, almost touching its nose. "You are going to stay there and do _nothing."_

The Colonel can almost swear that it answers back _"no"_ before going to do exactly that, laying on its side, exposing that furry little stomach to take a nap. 

Damn cats. At least he can actually do his work for right now. Fuery doesn't say a word about his nonchalant _acceptance_ of the animal, nor do the rest of his subordinates as they come and go throughout the day. 

It doesn't stop them from snickering when he bats away a curious paw every now and then, though. Or _laughing_ when he ends up in a rigorous, tense battle of slap-hand with the cat to keep himself from getting playfully bit. 

Roy Mustang isn't soft, except maybe with animals. And children. That is why he is _thankful_ there is only one of those two groups in his office right now, with Fullmetal being busy studying up in the East City Library.

Partially because he won't have to yell, but mostly so he doesn't have to deal with Fullmetal losing his goddamned mind at him _losing_ to a feline at slap-hand. He can hear Havoc counting the times he gets bit in comparison to him successfully knocking away those paws, and it's not doing him any favors.

Before he can even realize, three hours pass by, landing him with a finished pile of paperwork and a sufficiently pleased cat that he still doesn't know the name or owner of. 

* * *

"General Grumman."

"Well... been a while since you've dropped off your records directly. How many years has it been?"

"Heh... Too many to care about, sir. It's good to see you again."

"Hah! I could say the same for you, Lazarus. You look like you haven't aged a bit since you emerged from the academy."

"And you look like you've aged quite a lot, sir."

Every month, East City Headquarters see the arrival of an Alenthaalian soldier, carrying a slew of documents of all kinds. Immigration records are what make up the majority of it all, since their active _military_ efforts tend to be few and far between with how effectively they get rid of brigands that show up from the western mountains between their town and Guribaz, along with the occasional bandits riding sandwyrm chimeras from the Great Desert. 

Of course, though, there's medical records and other things, too. The developments made in their medical alchemy usually have a tight seal on them due to the sensitive nature of their discoveries—as well as the fairly anti-military family behind a lot of them—but some of their treatment breakthroughs are too important to keep hidden away.

 _"Doctors from central are useless,"_ he'd remember Tetha saying. _"They're all stuck under the military's nose. We're supposed to be for all people, everywhere, not just for Amestris' bloodied government. What good will curing cancer do if it can only help a select few? That's how humanity dies._ "

Even though he was still young, training under his father before going to the academy to "establish connections" like he wanted him to, Lazarus understood. The memories of his ancestors—burned into his blood, marking him like the beast he truly is—forced him to.

Humanity dies if it remains sheltered. That was the truth behind the glory and peace of Alenthaal; to give to the world beyond the desert and suppress the pure greed that prevents their progression. 

The records, this time, hold no mention of the activity of the last living Corviln. Officially registered as unable to function to pre-existing neurological conditions, mentions of her extensive surgeries and treatments to help strengthen her sensory organs are completely wiped. It will no doubt raise suspicion, should anyone look into her family, but Lazarus _knows._

Grumman, Roy— he knows that _neither_ of them will let this reach Central, not to those outside of "Team Mustang." East City Headquarters and their soldiers are the only ones Alenthaal will ever trust, even after the horrors that spawned from Ishval. The tragedy weighed heavily, even for them, close to the ruins of Xerxes.

No one approved of what happened in that war, not here in the East. That is the one way they are united.

"So, what brings you to deliver it this time? I'm fairly sure Private Xiulan hasn't gone and died so quickly, he was so enthusiastic after visiting last month."

"Oh, just normal things... Wanted to **see the sights,** catch up with some friends I made from the academy, serve up a **distraction** for Roy... the usual. My normal annoying nonsense, since things tend to get so tense around here. I think I might even stay **until next month,** since my Lieutenant General can handle things on her own, even after her **surgery.** You don't mind an Alenthaalian being here for that long, right, Grumman?"

The glint he sees in the other General's eyes is not lost on him. Good. It means it worked, and Mustang will get the message soon. That's all he needs. 

"Of course! Looking forward to you livening things up around here. We could always use an extra hand on missions, too, the Colonel's driven himself completely mad now and again. That is, if you're up to it."

His teethy smirk returns once more. The pronounced fangs of the Thunderbeast Alchemist see the light of day once again, a powerful pride welling up in his soul. Oh, he's going to enjoy being back in action outside of Alenthaal. So much to catch up on, so much to tease Roy for... and so much to show off by way of his town's true strength.

"You bet I am, General. Happy to be back. I'm assuming I'll retain a rank of Major, here?"

"Eh, you've never been too focused on ranks, anyways. Don't bother with it, we'll just call you how we always do. Thank you for dropping off these files, though. Looks like there's not much to go through."

"February's a slow month for immigration. Give it some time, we'll get some more in the spring."

He gets up, stretching his arms. He wasn't even sitting for that long, but he still finds a need to expand his bones out further and further. Just like a cat, just like his ancestors. 

"Well, I'm gonna go look around for Sarge. Let me know if a cat comes through here, alright? I still need to get him a collar and uniform, I've been slacking on it for a few months while he gets used to us."

"A cat in the Militia, huh?"

"Yeah. Just a little bit of a morale boost for all of us. See ya, Grumman."

His nonchalant demeanor has completely returned as he waves while heading out the door, whistling. He can rest easy for right now.

At least, he could, until he hears a rather nasty groan from down the halls. Someone was in pain. He has an Alkehestry circle tattooed onto his hand _and_ stitched onto his glove, not to mention an extensive knowledge of medical alchemy in general—no thanks to Lucaun and Lauriam, bless their souls. He can't just... _not_ help. 

His red uniform is a blur to no one but himself at this point. 

"Really, Brother, you should go to a hospital, it's possible it might be infected-"

"M'fine! It's just- It's the rain making me feel gross, that's all! Stumps hurt like hell because of it..."

"Brother..."

Well, well. To think he was supposed to be looking for Sarge, and now he found those two boys that Roy wouldn't shut up about to him over the phone. 

"Man. Didn't think I'd meet you two when I heard that groan."

The armored boy practically _jumps,_ letting out a squeal that doesn't fit his size at all. Oops. He'd done it again, walking without leaving any sound and spooking people. 

"A-Ah... sorry. Hi, didn't mean to do that. Should've spoken up from a distance away."

"O-Oh, n-no, it's fine! You just... How _did_ you do that, actually...?"

"Habit. Instinct. Lots of things, don't really wanna unpack it all. It doesn't matter right now, what's up with the Fullmetal Alchemist?"

"Nothing is up. I'm fine, Al's just making a big damn deal of me getting a little scrape-"

"It was not just a _scrape_ and you KNOW it, Brother!-"

"It WAS just a scrape, and I'm telling you, it's just the damn rain! I'm fine, Al!"

He can hear what sounds like a huff leaving the armor. It doesn't seem like Alphonse is too pleased.

"Well, if it _was_ just a scrape, I can heal it up for you with alchemy. It'll probably save you some grief from Mustang and Hawkeye. It'll barely look like anything happened."

The kid gives him a glare. It's there that he sees it, finally. 

After so, _so many_ years, he sees a set of gleaming, _golden_ eyes that weren't his own. **_Xerxian eyes._ **Fullmetal is analyzing him, trying to read his true intentions. It won't work, not as long as he focuses, forcing the clouds of intangibility over the windows to his soul.

"...Who are you, anyway?"

"A friend from Alenthaal. My name is Cobalt Lazarus, but you can call me Thunderbeast, if you like."

"Thunderbeast, huh... Nah, I'll stick with Lazarus. Easier. You some sort of Militia officer?"

"Mmm... You could say something like that. Anyways... Like I said, I can heal that "scrape" of yours, if you'd like. I'm pretty experienced with this sort of thing, it's kind of what my town specializes in."

"...Fine. Make it quick. My stumps are starting to get back to normal."

"You got it, kid."

"M'not a kid!"

"Mmmmhm. Just let me see the wound, I work fast all the time."

Theres a frown, but he lifts up the side of his shirt. That red overcoat did a good job of hiding the mound of red, angry bandage until now, but it doesn't make the wound any prettier. He knew the "scrape" was an understatement, but something this bad... This should've required a hospital visit.

_"It hurts, Mitéra, it hurts-!"_

_"I know, little lion... I know. Push through, even if it's just for me. It will be over soon..."_

He says nothing as he unwraps it all. No need to get on the child's nerves when he knows full well he wasn't any better at his age. With all honesty, the wound must look worse than it actually was, if he was still moving fine, even considering automail complications. Kid did a good job of sterilizing the wound on his own, for how reckless Roy made him out to be. 

He'll have to annoy him about that later. It's clear he's just being a too-cautious father.

"My hand might sting when I place it, but you shouldn't feel any pain from the transmutation itself. I ate recently, so I'll supplement as much energy for this as I can, but it's possible you might still feel a little fatigue because I'm accelerating your healing process."

"Y-Yeah. Whatever."

The star within the Alkehestry array is only a base point. It had so many uses, so many applications, and yet the array never seemed to change. So many people would think it was some kind of magic, just like they would with some more complicated circles he's seen in the remnants of Milosian alchemy, but he knows better. It's just like Luitumi told him, when she first discovered her ability to create the circles with her hands themselves.

Envision the greater aspects of the array, and link them together. He may not have the knowledge that she does, but they both have that unique sense.

_"Even those of us who don't use Alkehestry can sense it. The way we focus the worlds energy to make the array change... it's the same way we apply that energy, to heighten our sense of self."_

That's one of many similar nuggets of knowledge he's gained from Xingese travelers and traders over the years. Focus the energy, and alter the array with it.

He's done it a million times by now, and this time is no different. With a careful placement of his hand, he places two fingers on the back of his glove, and breathes.

The array flares to life, a soft blue glow illuminating Edward's stomach as the wound seems to _stitch itself shut_ before their eyes, only tiny sparks of lightning seeming to be let free. Within seconds, he's basically completely healed.

"There we go. That should do it, I even shut the internal linings. It was a clean cut, so it wasn't too hard to put together."

"That... That was amazing! Right, Brother?!"

"Where'd you learn how to do that-?"

"Mmm... Can't tell, Alenthaalian secret. Figure it out yourself, _shorty."_

_**"WHO'RE YOU CALLING SO SMALL A GRAIN OF SAND IS A BOULDER?!"** _

"Brother, he didn't say that!!"

"Mmm, I dunno, think I did."

"Wh-! Mr. Lazarus, don't encourage it-!!!"

He snorts. Ahh, good to tease people. Ever since losing Lucaun, his prime teasing target spot has been absent. Maybe this will be a good substitute, for right now. Getting up from his kneeling position, the General offers a hand to the no-longer-injured State Alchemist, which he—reluctantly, Ed might add—takes. There's another groan, but he's assuming this one is for the leg, this time.

"Your automail's bothering you that bad, huh?"

"...Yeah. M'fine. Happens all the time."

"Oh, trust me, I know. My br- _Major Moore_ is an automail mechanic himself. Tells me a lot of horror stories from his patients. I'm gonna stick with you two for right now, just in case."

"Oh, no, sir, it's fine, really! Shouldn't you be heading to Alenthaal anyways-?"

"Nah. Staying for a month to sightsee. The Militia will be fine without me, Lieutenant General's always gotten on my ass about taking a vacation every now and again."

"Lieutenant General...? Wait a second, how high up are you-?!"

"Oh yeah, I didn't say it earlier because I was too worried about making sure you were okay."

Ah, and there's that sinister smile. The cat smile.

"I should formally introduce myself, then. My name is Cobalt Lazarus, and I'm the acting **General** of the Alenthaalian Militia, and head of all their recorded affairs. It's good to finally meet you, Fullmetal! The Colonel's told me a lot about you."

Oh, how he loves the sound of people losing their minds about something reverberating through the hallways. 

* * *

"Heeeeellooooooo, Mustang!!"

For once, the door being kicked open is not done by Fullmetal, in all his normal fits of rage. With all his door-kicking habits still in full force outside Alenthaal, Lazarus does the honors, much to the dismay of everyone in the room. 

"Hey Colonel Bastard, we're ba-"

"Mmmrow."

The trio is rendered silent. What a view. 

Roy Mustang, silently fuming from his desk, with a cat on his shoulders. 

"...Is that a cat, Colonel?"

Ed almost sounds incredulous. Makes sense, considering today has just been one weird thing after another. Random attack out of nowhere by some guy who hated the military after his reading, then meeting this weird guy from Alenthaal, and now... this. 

"Oh, man, so this is where you ended up, Sarge?"

"Do you mean to tell me this cat is _**yours,**_ Lazarus?"

"Yep. C'mon, Sarge, stop bothering the Colonel."

"Mmrrrp."

"No, you can't stay there, I don't care how good his hair is for napping against. Mine is better anyways."

"Hey-!"

"Shut up, Mustang. I'm talking to my Sergeant, not you."

He can _swear_ he sees Hawkeye try to stifle a laugh in the corner of his vision. _Traitor._

"Sarge, seriously, he has to get up sometime. Amestris doesn't take a liking to animal soldiers like we do."

"Mrrow!"

"Don't you backtalk me, young man, or else _you're_ not getting **_any_** extra fish for dinner. Stop bothering Mustang, that's supposed to be my job."

The cat, as if this whole exchange wasn't strange enough, seems to _consider the statement._ After a good moment or two of thinking, it promptly jumps off Roy's shoulders, trots over to the Alenthaalian general, and jumps up onto his now-extended arm, all the way up to _his_ shoulders. 

"There we go, that's a good boy. You love your fish, don't you, Snuffles? Yes, you do!"

Fullmetal and his brother are cracking up, much to the dismay of their superior. Even with Roy yelling at them to shut up, they just _continue,_ dragging it out for a solid minute. It's a good thing he healed Edward earlier, otherwise that wound would've made this a lot more painful.

He's going to enjoy being around here, that much he can tell.

"Anyways, hi, Mustang. You're gonna be stuck with me for a month. Yell at Grumman if you want an explanation."

"Will do. Now, Fullmetal, what are you doing back here so soon? Got fed up reading?"

"Some idiot tried to attack me. Had him arrested, didn't feel like sticking around."

"Tried to attack you-?"

"I'm _fine,_ so don't start caring about it now. Now that I'm back, mind explaining how you two know eachother? If you're not gonna let me go to Alenthaal myself, you might as well."

A sigh. Apparently dealing with Sarge exhausted him enough. 

"I've known Lazarus since my days at the academy. He's... a particular _nuisance,_ I'll say that much."

"That's Mustang-ese for "he's my friend and he annoys me a lot but still serves as one of my closest sources of information." At least, I'm pretty sure."

"You're a **menace."**

"Only to you!"

"Huh. I thought your only friend would've been the Lieutenant Colonel."

"What- I have _**friends!"**_

"Mustang, you're emotionally constipated eighty percent of the time. You can at least try to admit to yourself that you don't have too many friends."

" ** _Lazarus-!!!"_**

* * *

Resembool being so quiet is both a blessing and a curse.

On one hand, they don't have to worry about being found, especially with the fact that the General is staying in East City to keep any military attention away. On the other, it makes the surgery so much more _painful,_ especially since Luitumi can only get so much anesthesia before posing a risk to her neurological condition.

Her pain tolerance has developed considerably since she tried human transmutation, but it still _haunts_ him to hear her screaming, _crying_ as they replace the portions burnt by the loss of her original eyes.

Optic nerve surgery, especially for automail, was possible, but rarely practiced. Most people came to terms with the idea that once they were blind, that would be it—they've lost one of their senses completely, no hope to ever restore it. It was too painful for most people deal with.

_"Carson, how long... how long will this take? T-To build the pieces and make sure the dimensions fit. A-And to prep my eyes..."_

_"...I don't know, Lumi. It shouldn't be too hard to build, but dealing with nerves so close to the brain can be dangerous. We still need to assess the damage and treat what we can before we even attempt to put this in. There's no telling if the back of your eyes are burned, too. At best... maybe a year, with advanced alkehestry. Though two is probably our safest bet if we don't want you to get seriously infected."_

_"A-And recovering my sight?"_

_"...We could probably do it in a month, if I have enough consistent energy for it and an extra pair of hands. It'll hurt you, though... We can't risk you being thrown into a seizure by using anesthesia."_

_"I'll do it. I-I gotta... push past this. I have to. I-I promised."_

That confidence can't be heard, not anymore. Not as she lies, writhing, forcibly strapped down as they test the nerve endings. Her eyes—they _shake,_ for a brief moment, and that's how they know it's done. 

Sealing up the holes in the skull is another story, as well.

This process already exhausted him enough—they'd been in surgery for over six hours now— but he needed to do this. Placing two of his fingers on both sides of her head, the Alkehestry arrays tattooed onto his palms shine with a brilliant blue, sealing the skull shut with excess calcium from her own body. " _She'll be fine,"_ he has to remind himself. _"She's been on a calcium rich diet since we started. She'll be fine."_

Regardless, he still heaves afterward, unable to continue. Luitumi didn't have the energy to spare, so he had to use his own, instead. Bones always took so much out of him.

The elder Rockbell yells something, and before he knows it, he's being brought out by the younger one, Winry. He can't remember walking over to the sink to clean himself off. The blood— _oh god, the blood, there was so much of it when he and his brother found her, he hates the stench of it_ —washes out, turning the water an unpleasant pink as it does. 

He can't remember an entire hour passing with the surgery having been completed, either. Pinako has to snap him back to reality for him to even do so much as _look_ at her, being guided over to a chair so he can sit down and process what he's done today. 

Five things he can see. A dog—Den, he reminds himself—that sits at his feet. The wall to the side of him. Pinako, in front of him. Winry, in the doorway. The window, off to the side. Each one stabilizes him, ever so slightly, and he breathes. 

By the time he can talk normally, it all sets in. _He had a fucking panic attack right at the end of surgery._

Clearly, he's more mentally scarred by That Night than he ever could've imagined. His appetite that he remembers having at the start has completely faded, replaced with a hollow, terrifying pool of fear that builds in his gut. 

_What if the surgery doesn't work? What if she gets infected? What if she still has a seizure after this anyways, forcing them to have to go back and reattach the port? What if-_

"Carson, boy, get your head out of your chest. She's going to be fine."

He tries. He really does. 

But he just _can't._

* * *

"Get some rest, child. You've been through a lot tonight..."

"N-N...H-have t-to m-make sure... h-heal."

"You'll heal by getting _rest,_ Luitumi. You Corvilns are all the same, stubborn to the very end..."

"C-Can't... N-Not with p-pain, can't-"

Pinako breathes. There's not much she can do about that, not without providing a huge risk to the girl's health. They'd already used as much as they could to reduce pain before reaching the physical limit for that pesky little seizure-syndrome of hers. 

"I'm sorry. I can't do anything to help you with that, not with what we have now."

"N-No, I-I'm- I'm sorry, I-I w-was stupid, M'sorry, m'sorry-"

Unlike with Edward, she doesn't respond. She lets the girl cry, dampening her blindfold—which is only there to make sure she isn't overwhelmed by the bright light above them—and staining her cheeks. 

Hearing from Carson that she performed human transmutation... She almost couldn't breathe, at first. After all the hell that Ed and Al had been through, _another_ child had gone and done it. For how long she'd known the Corviln family thanks to the prominent doctor's circle of the East, she'd thought that Luitumi would've known better.

And yet, she didn't. She was delirious with grief, unable to cope with the idea her brother would die. Carson had told her all the details, including the gruesome circle and the _inhuman creature_ she'd brought to life, his own voice shaking as he did so. 

Resembool and Alenthaal really were cousins, even across the miles of land that separated them. It was the least that she could do to help with this surgery. 

The begging of the half-Xingese boy with Ishvalan eyes certainly tug at her heartstrings, though. He'd been just as desperate as Al was on that night.

Strapped to her bed to prevent her ports from shifting, Luitumi cries herself to sleep. 

"Granny, is everything okay in here...?"

"...She's asleep now. Come on now, Winry, we should let her be."

"Alright..."

What an awful day.

She's not used to praying, but she finds herself doing it subconsciously, wishing for the next ones to be better. She doesn't know how much more of this tragic, idiotic behavior she can handle.

* * *

Sight. Distraction. Month. Surgery. Roy, immediately understanding the truth behind it, breathes. There's a more disturbing idea brewing in his mind, though.

 _What the hell could've followed them here that Lazarus needed to serve as a **distraction?**_ Considering what he's seen with Fullmetal, he'd rather not know. But...

If there's one thing he needs to make sure of, it's that _Edward doesn't go back to Resembool for the next month._

This is going to be a pain in the ass. Goddamn Lazarus.

And goddamn him for going along with this nonsense, as well.


End file.
